


Mortal

by Kristylee



Category: King Arthur (2004)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 12:07:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13951227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kristylee/pseuds/Kristylee
Summary: Tristan/Galahad + my chemical romance lyrics.





	Mortal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zombieporno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombieporno/gifts).



At first, at first swift love drowned the two of them with hunger and need for each other. A marvel, they were twined limbs like knots of string, delicate and unbroken.

“You place no mercy upon me, and I find myself quaking at your touch.”

By day they rode, horses side by side, bare knees close, swords singing in their sheaths when bumped. Any pair of eyes could see the heaven they created.

“It is just that you beg so sweetly, my boy. How could anybody yield at the sight of your lips, frozen in ecstasy? Hm, tell me how you imagine I stop when your skin begs so warmly for my hand.”

They could have lived forever that way, at first, at first. Youth played their side and with it a strategy to remain strong and unencumbered by age and meager status. It was the thrill of enemy blood that told the time. That told them they should celebrate or mourn or kiss or rut. 

Each battle won, each victory held, they lived. Drew breath from each other, weighed with alcohol or feast.

At first. At first.

Dawn split the sky, mostly purple, partially pink. The stars burned out, one by one, edging toward a never. 

Tristan rolled, seeking warmth. Galahad murmured softly in his sleep. He smelled strongly of sweat and pine. It took no time at all to fall to lust’s hands with this boy. To witness his unbecoming. To be the one to make his eyes lose focus, legs trembling. 

“We will never die,” Tristan whispers. “And if we do, I will find you, heaven, hell or purgatory.” 

“If we die by Roman hand, surely Hell will greet us.”

They hike their legs together, warmer with skin. They doze and kiss and whisper sweet nothings to one another. Young, immortal with love.

And then, and then as an arrow shot from a bow to pierce flesh and organ, Tristan saw his boy collapse in the field, heavy without his spirit to hold him up. 

And then.

And then, a cry, a war cry louder than thunder itself, Tristan made across the field, leaving spun limbs and twisted bodies in his wake with only fear and his sword to guide him.

Too soon, memories of Galahad streak in his mind, already tear stained and aged. His sighing lips, his melodious laugh. Strong hands, eager eyes. A plea to be touched.

He touches him now, shivering from the loss. The curls of his hair, the lines of his neck. The fair glow of his skin. 

Tristan cries for death to take him. To perhaps be immortal again with his selfless, wanting boy. His heart stutters and aches as though hit with armor. Oh how wrong it feels to have loved now. Oh how wrong he was to think that immortality meant never dying. This is dying. Being without.


End file.
